A Mother's Betrayal

We moms try to keep our children as innocent and naive for as long as possible, attempting to avoid the inevitable, even as we know, deep in our hearts, the day will always come. We see ourselves as gatekeepers of guile, postponing that single moment in existence when we discover, as we had always known would be the case, that our children's eyes are wide, wide open. For some moms, it's their child's discovery that there is no Santa. Or Easter Bunny. Or Tooth Fairy. Or magical pet farm where all runaway (or run over) pets go to live out their forever existence.

Since it's well documented how great my dislike is of the above show stealers, I'm sure it's going to come as a great surprise to all that my duplicity is actually quite domestic. It is with a heavy heart that I had to admit to my son last night......we really do own a clothes iron.

It's true. I've kept it bottled (and hidden) up for so many years, and now my carefully crafted web of lies has come crashing down on me. My son was at his friend's this weekend, and they went to the movies with his parents. Apparently this rogue family he was with had a shifty Satan mother who was happily ironing his friend's clothes. Somehow the discussion started about how we don't have an iron. They even asked my son - God forbid - "Doesn't your mom have to iron your dad's clothes for work?" Without even that hint of a mother radar warning, my son let this concept fester in his brain for a day or two and then, obviously being completely unable to resist opening that Pandora's box of madness, he sought his own answers. He used his next basket of laundry as a ruse to gain access to the laundry room and its cabinets of cleaners and other nonsense, all perfectly arranged to hide what he must have known deep down was always there just out of his consciousness (and his line of vision, but the kid is now taller than I am). There, in his quest to seek out the truth, he found it: A clothes iron.

He tries to nonchalantly broach the topic, probably trying to catch me in my own trickery. "Mom, since when do we have an iron?" Being no amateur and recognizing this for a trap, I choose my next words with meticulous caution. "Huh?" He says, "There's an iron in the laundry room. In the cabinet. Behind a bunch of stuff." 

I'm still very, very hesitant to show my hand. "Oh, that. Yes. We have one." Now his uncertainty creeps in. "Did you just buy one? How long has it been there? Have you ever used it?" He then tells me the story of his friend's family's insidious intervention and how they callously cut down all my false perpetuations. I reallze it's checkmate, and decide the merciful approach is to just rip that band-aid off, the quicker the better. 

I sigh and tell him, "Sweetie, it's time to tell you the truth. Yes, we do have an iron, and we have always had an iron. I've never told you before because frankly, I don't believe in them, but every few years or so, something comes up and I have no choice but to take it out and remove some wrinkles." 

I can tell this has shaken him to his very core. "But....we've always had wrinkles. Dad has wrinkles. You always just put things back in the dryer over and over. You've never ironed anything for anyone....ever!"

Cringing with the knowledge that this conversation will forever change his view of me, his father, laundry, and world peace in general, I have to phrase what next comes out of my mouth to perfection to breach that chasm of confusion no mother ever wants to find herself on an opposite side from her child. 

"Sweetie, your trust is very important to me (not really) and I would take it back if I could (I wouldn't). But the truth of the matter is that I don't believe in ironing, just like I don't believe in dusting, vacuuming, or bringing in all the mail at once if there's nothing interesting in it that day. When I was growing up, my mom used to iron clothes for her family, and I swore I would never repeat that same mistake with mine. Yes, I've owned an iron, but only as an absolute hail mary do I ever resort to using it. I may have had to lie to you and for that I'm sorry (I'm not), but what I've taught you for years is still true: As long as we have a clothes dryer, and I promise you as your mother and protector we always will, ironing is just something we (by default Jay has to be in on this with me because I firmly believe parents need to provide a united, albeit wrinkled, team) don't believe is appropriate for our values and morals. You're going to experience it in the world, and someday you may even (over my dead body) meet a special girl who will want you to let her iron your clothes. I trust we've been good, good parents to you and by then you'll be able to make up your own mind about ironing. Just remember: Nowhere in the bible does it say, 'Thou shalt iron thy clothes.' Now, where's all that chocolate the Easter Bunny brought you?"